


Just a typical meeting.

by luna65



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna65/pseuds/luna65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I saw a series of paparazzi photos of the boys and Andy, taken the week before James' birthday I believe, and so - as tends to happen - it led me to write this. It's gen, just an excuse for me to have some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a typical meeting.

Jeremy listened with a puzzled expression. “Hammond,” he shouted at his phone, “are you on a roundabout or something?”

Andy and James’ eyes met his with bemusement. They sat outside at a restaurant they frequented in Notting Hill. The day was the typical London gray, but not too cold that they were uncomfortable as they sat smoking and drinking and talking, undisturbed by those who passed them by on the street. James had spotted a paparazzi across the street, but they had steadfastly ignored the intrusion, as they had learned to do over the years since becoming some of Britain’s most famed presenters.

“I swear he must be ringing from the bike,” Jeremy murmured, then started shouting again. “Right, it’s a production meeting, usual place, c’mon then.” He peered at the screen, holding it away from him before finding the correct button to end the call. “Hamster is scurrying to us as we speak.”

“You’re the only one speaking,” James quipped.

“Yes but you’re talking now, aren’t you?”

Andy snorted, then took a sip of wine. “May, why are you resisting my brilliant idea of a rally in honour of your birthday?”

“Because I don’t want to die, Andy, I think it’s a fair argument.”

“You go up in a fighter plane and such and you think you’ll crash in a rally car? Really, James?” Jeremy teased.

“It’d be just my luck,” came the laconic reply. He cocked his head then, rather like the spaniel he’d always been accused of resembling. “I think he’s coming,” he said.

"Show off,” gibed Jeremy, then lit a cigarette. “Andy, I know we can’t postpone –“

“We do not wait, what am I always saying –“

“Yes but, have you seen the forecast then? The track is going to be slipperier than baby oil wrestling night at the Spearmint Rhino.”

“Oi, none o’ya dirty talk, Clarkson,” Andy scolded as a vehicle pulled up to the kerb and the three men at the table burst into laughter at the sight of Richard Hammond being transported via hired motorbike.

“Hammond, what in blazes is that?” James demanded.

“Ask our overlord there,” Richard explained after he removed his helmet and handed it and his jacket to the driver. “It appears the Beeb’s insurance rider demands that I not do my own driving except on camera.” They all made gagging sounds at the sight of his infamous Native American-themed cardigan and he gave them the reversed ‘V’ in reply.

"Oh that’s gotta suck, dude,” Jeremy said, in his best impression of an American, then started laughing again.

“Sod you all, and someone please give me a fag,” Richard commanded, taking a seat at the table. Andy passed a cigarette to him. 

“Jeremy thinks we shouldn’t film because it’s going to snow,” he said to the other, “can ya believe that?”

Richard reacted with his characteristic hyperanimated gesturing. “Oh but that’s great telly, the near-death experience of it all!”

James rolled his eyes, reaching for a cigarette of his own, “You have one terrible crash and suddenly you’re an expert on dramatic programming.”

“More than you, soon-to-be old man.”

“Soon to be? He’s been that age all his bloody life!”

They all laughed, save James. That joke never grew old…unlike their colleague.

“So wot you think then, Hamster – the James May Memorial Rally, 50 laps. And James has to drive it in his Panda!” Jeremy clapped his hands after the announcement.

Richard grinned, waving his arms around. “Ah s’brilliant! But that’d be like asking me to drive Oliver round a rally track. Ya gotta be fair ‘bout it with the car, I reckon. Too easy a cock-up otherwise.”

“I beg your pardon –“ James interjected with what was likely not manufactured affront.

“Think of it, Andy,” Jeremy went on, gesturing with his cigarette, “they’ll be likely twenty hours of footage to edit, we won’t be able to show it until two series from now.”

Andy tried not to laugh but bent over, snorting. “The sound of him sucking on those candies the whole time, oi!”

“I’m having a slash, you lot carry on with your character assassination,” James announced, rising from the table.

“Can you tell the waiter to come over, then? Gagging for a coffee,” Richard said, then slumped in his chair.

“You been running the wheel too hard, little fellow?”

“Mindy and some of the other girls got in their heads to have a ‘Post-Crimble Jumble’ so everyone can clean out their attics and such, was up late last night going through the garage.”

“Ah, you need to go on _Cash In The Attic_ , I tell you!” Jeremy exclaimed.

“You’re an idiot, how do you feel?” Richard deadpanned in response, and they all laughed.

“You know wot she’s gonna do, right? Claim she accidentally sold Oliver for ten quid because someone wanted him as a planter!” Andy teased.

"You bastard, don’t you even jest ‘bout my boy! The son I never had –“

“Oh god, here we go,” Jeremy groaned. He finished his glass of wine. “Should I have another or should I have a coffee?”

“P’haps you should sober up a bit, for the sake of the kids,” Andy quipped.

“But do you really –“

“I wager James knows the answer,” Richard said, as they were joined by their colleague and the waiter, who took orders for coffee and a tea for James.

“Well yes of course I do, but to what?”

“Do you sober up faster if you’ve had caffeine after alcohol?”

“Wait, you don’t know this, Mr. Whiz-Bang Science Bloke?” James teased.

“Answer the question, Slow.”

James lit another cigarette and pondered for a moment, then said caffeine arrived and he stared into his cup of tea.  
“Well there are some who say all you’ll get is a jittery drunk, others say you might, but it all depends on how one’s body processes the chemical components, y’see and so it’s different for everyone. For example –“

“Oh you just had to get him started, didn’t you?” Jeremy interjected.

"Shut it you utter cock, I’m being educational.”

“You’re being a crashing bore as usual.”

“You asked!” James declared, which was his usual response to complaints of his tendency towards overstatement.

“Coo-ee!” Richard exclaimed quietly. “Three o’clock, boys.”

They swiveled their heads to look, and James felt the need to be pedantic.

“Three o’clock would be across the street, Hammond. This side of the street is nine o’clock.”

“Do you not see that beautiful girl there?” Jeremy asked.

“Well yes of course, but –“

“Then shut up!”

“Nice chassis,” Richard murmured, taking her in. She was tall-ish, with long caramel locks flowing past her shoulders, and a clingy cream-colored sweater which just covered her swinging butt as she trotted along in knee-high fawn suede boots.

“Is she wearing tights?” James asked, peering at her.

“Yes but they’re the sheer kind,” Richard answered.

“Lord love a duck she’s fit,” Jeremy said, his tone had a wistful tinge.

“Well why bother if y’can see –“

“So she can wear the boots, idiot. Makes for a clean line.”

“So Mindy’s got you all sussed on ladies’ fashion, yes?” Andy gibed.

“It’s important to know these things –“

“Important to whom?” Jeremy boomed. 

“I’m interested, but Sarah never wants to answer my questions ‘bout undergarments. She just rolls her eyes at me and goes on ‘bout her business.”

“And neither would I, if I were her,” Jeremy said, then turned back to gawk. “I’d swear I can see her fanny, that jumper is so short.”

The others let out with breathless shocked laughter.

“God Almighty you are a pervish tosser, Jezza,” James scolded, trying not to laugh so loud.

“Girls like to be looked at!” Jeremy protested, throwing out his hands.

“D’ya want blokes saying that ‘bout Em?” Richard asked, pointing at the other with his cigarette.

“And they will! They just can’t say it ‘round me or I’ll run them over with a tank, because that’s wot dads do. You’ll do it too, Hamster, wait and see.”

“Oh they’ll be facing my inquisition, the boys will. Accompanied by a cudgel.”

“Lads, can we focus, please?” Andy pleaded. “Five minutes.”

“That’s far too long,” Richard countered with a grin. “Three minutes.”

“Three and three quarters.”

“Three and a half.”

“Three and a quarter,” James called out.

Jeremy smacked his palm on the table. “Sold! To the old man with the ridiculous hair.”

James put a hand on his chest and bowed his head in mock graciousness.

“I’m timing you, Andy,” Jeremy said, picking up his phone. “Just have to find the stopwatch app.”

“Well then we’ll be here all bloody afternoon,” Richard cracked.

“I give up on you lot,” Andy proclaimed, but then when the cheering started he completed the sentence. “For _today_.”

“Well that’s a letdown,” James said with a smirk.

“Wait, you insist I come all the way ‘cross town for a meeting and then we don’t even have one? I had stuff to do!” Richard exclaimed, gesturing wildly again.

Jeremy butted in again. “Alright now May, we have to do something for your sodding birthday or we’ll get hate mail again.”

“Fifty isn’t just any old year, y’know,” Andy continued. “It’s a milestone.”

“Yes, around my neck,” James quipped. “You just want to tell that stupid joke again, so let’s mention it in the opening and move on.”

“But we could really have fun with it!” Richard pleaded. 

“I’ve learned to implicitly distrust the notion of ‘fun’ when suggested by either of you,” James said, and punctuated the statement with a frown.

“Well if he’s not having it then I might as well go home and get the same attitude from the brood. Y’know, I wasn’t this much of a moody bastard when I turned 50.”

“No, you were just obnoxious as ever,” James agreed.

“Well there you are.”

They all grinned, then Richard rose up from the table. “Right, I’ve got to dash. I have a real meeting to attend.”

He was razzed by his colleagues, and departed with farewells and a “See you on Wednesday.”

James pushed himself away from the table. “S’pose I’m off as well, then. My weekly darts game awaits.” He departed on one of his motorbikes, and apparently the travel restrictions did not extend to his driving, as Jeremy continued to make cracks about the scourge of riders to the nation, which earned him a “Fuck you, and good day.”

“Ready to join the throng, Jez?” Andy asked him.

“Nah, let’s have a drink and see wot happens to my sobriety, or lack thereof.”

They wandered off through Notting Hill towards whatever pub might have an outside table available. “Maybe we’ll see that girl again,” Jeremy said, a hopeful lilt in his voice.

Andy chuckled, and shook his head. “If we do, don’t you dare ask her if she watches the programme, you hound.”

“Wot is the sense in being a celebrity if ya can’t use it to pull a pretty girl?!” Jeremy asked, and the two continued laughing as they strolled away.


End file.
